Finale
by OzGeek
Summary: Written for an NFA challenge to write the final ever NCIS episode. Contains: rain, redheads, Sarahs, nemesis hunting, endless fingerprint searches, people sleeping at work, people leaving etc and Jeanne is dead, dead, dead. About 6 chapters.
1. Opportunities

This story was written for the NFA **Series Finale Challenge -** there is a link to NFA challenges on my profile page. The challenge is summarised as follows:

_If you were asked by DPB to write the series finale (in the future), what would you do to end the series? Write it! Should be at least 4,500 words. Deadline: Midnight EST between September 24 and 25, 2007. (I don't know what date we count that as here). That's the premiere date, so you won't want to be writing past then anyway.  
__  
Restrictions:  
1) Must be with Ziva and Jen  
2) Must stay true to canon when it comes to ship.  
3) Keep the rating similar to what we would see on the show - ie, violence, gore, etc. If they couldn't air it, you can't write it.  
4) This will probably be an emotional story already, so if you're having someone leave or die, put the warning in "Sad Character Development."  
__5) There needs to be a case - think of it like writing a regular episode._

I decided to take the features of NCIS episodes and season finales in particular as my guide. Note this is what I think might happen as opposed to what I want to have happen. Except near the end where McGee gets way too much air time for a real NCIS team chasing a nemesis episode. I find it very hard to write plot or Tony based stuff. I suppose that's why the call it a challenge. My story elements:

**Elements: **Someone named Sarah, Redheads, People leaving (s2 and s3), Rain, People sleeping at work, Nemesis hunting, Flashbacks, Tony needing personal tragedy to realise he need to appreciate what he's got. A la Grace Period and of course a pretentious title – either Finale or something starting with "Dead Man".

* * *

**Finale**

**Teaser:**

* * *

Tony Flashback

_The restaurant is a kaleidoscope of color and sound. A delicious red-haired waitress slides the plates onto the table but Tony Dinozzo does not notice her for tonight, he only has eyes for one. He reaches into his breast pocket and draws out an ornate jewellery box. She smiles slightly but as her eyes come to rest on the locket concealed within, her face explodes into an expression of genuine pleasure that would live in his heart forever. She lifts the pendant by its heavy looped golden chain and strokes the clasp. Her smile deepens as the pendant opens to reveal the two photos cradled inside. She envelops him in an Abby-worthy hug. He utters those three little words – and he means them._

End Tony Flashback

* * *

**Chapter 1 - Opportunities**

"To the future!"

The clink of Ducky's brimming glass against the half full flute of Jethro Gibbs echoed in the pristine silence of the morgue.

"Been a long time coming," Gibbs noted, downing the champagne in a single draught and slamming the glass on the harsh metal table.

Ducky winced, anticipating the accompanying sound of shattered glass which, fortunately, did not eventuate. "Traditionally, this drink is savoured a little longer, Jethro."

"No time, Duck," said Gibbs: "paperwork."

"I put my resignation papers in last week; there was almost no paperwork involved."

"Not that paperwork – boat registration."

"Ah yes, think of me as you sail the North Sea."

"Your golf so bad you'll be looking out to sea?"

Ducky chuckled. "Not in general. I do hope I have time for a few rounds in between lecturing duties."

"Palmer getting your job?"

"I can't just pick someone and say, 'he's doing a good job: I'll take him'," said Ducky regretfully.

"That's how I got Kate," Gibbs pointed out.

"This is more: 'he's doing a good job: I'll promote him'," Ducky countered.

"Like the way I got McGee," Gibbs replied.

"Here in the real world," Ducky was getting exasperated, "there are things called competitive interviews."

"You had a chat to the Director about that?"

Ducky lowered his glass thoughtfully and placed it on the table. "I'll be right back," he murmured.

* * *

"How's Abby taking it?" Tony asked as McGee returned from the lab.

"Better than last time," McGee noted wryly. "The Gibbs pictures are back on her screens but this time he promised to keep her birthday date no matter what."

"Did she get a contact number?"

"Well…..," McGee considered, "I'm not sure how Mrs Gibbs the Nth would take to Abby ringing every hour while they are on their honeymoon."

Tony shuddered. "The honeymoon: every bachelor's nightmare."

"Not if you're finally sailing the boat you've been building for most of your life."

Tony pondered the idea for a moment. "Gibbs and a Lt. Col. alone on a boat: I suppose it looks better than two guys with facial hair sharing a beach shack in Mexico and building a teak hot tub together."

_Whack!_

"Boss," Tony grimaced as the pain reverberated around his skull: there were some things about Gibbs he was just not going to miss.

Gibbs did a U-turn and gave Tony a second whack, causing his teeth to jangle in their sockets.

"What was that one for?"

Gibbs turned for his desk again. "I've got a lifetime quota to fill in a week, DiNozzo," he said. "Some comments are going to cost you double."

McGee noted wistfully. "It's not going to be the same with two members of the team gone."

"Three," Ziva corrected tonelessly from her desk.

"What?"

Ziva looked up from her screen, a brave smile fixed on her face. "I have been recalled."

Tony and McGee exchanged glances.

"What?" Ziva's feigned nonchalance fooled no one. "I was here to learn. There is a European assignment that could use my help – I have been recalled. She leaned closer to the screen and located the exact phrase in her email – 'team guppy'."

"You're making that up," Tony accused.

"I am not," defended Ziva. "It's a loose translation but I wouldn't make it… Director?" Ziva stopped as she caught a glimpse of Jenny Shepard descending the stairway.

"I just received the email," the Director said with forced pleasure. "Congratulations."

Ziva's eyes fell to her desk. "Thank you."

But the Director was no longer looking at her. "Tony, I need to see you in my office."

Tony frowned at Ziva momentarily. With a gentle tilt of her head she motioned that he should follow Jen. He understood the message: they could talk later.

As he ascended the stairs in Jenny's wake, Tony looked back to see McGee already squatting in front of Ziva's desk consoling her. He knew she would be telling McGee that she had no need of comfort. He also knew she would be grateful that someone cared enough to try.

* * *

Tony closed the door quietly behind him. The Director had adopted a formidable pose behind her desk: bolt upright, arms folded protectively in front of her, the spikes of her cropped auburn hair glinting like steely knives in the sunlight that seemed to spotlight her positions. He hesitated – this didn't look good. He half expected her to invoke his second name.

"Have a seat Tony." She inclined her head towards the isolated chair positioned directly in front of her desk.

He sat abruptly. "I'm fired aren't I?"

A smiled wormed its way across her lips. "No Tony, you're not fired."

"Then?"

Jen took a deep breath and leant back in her chair. "A long time ago I told you that an opportunity to lead your own team doesn't come up very often."

"The answer is yes." He knew Sarah Yeardon was retiring soon: that left a head-of-team vacancy. Result: promotion and still a chance to fulfil his ultimate obligation.

"You haven't heard the question yet."

"OK, give me the question. The answer is still yes."

The Director paused. She had practised this speech until her voice was hoarse but it still never came out right. "A position has come up in the field of international espionage.." she began carefully.

"OK," Tony hedged, "now the answer is tending towards a 'maybe'."

"It's located in Paris, France,…"

"No."

"Tony.."

"Not while he's still alive."

She hadn't wanted to raise her voice but it was going to happen anyway. Throwing her arms to her side she shot up from her seat and learned on the table to glower at him from above. "Listen to me!"

Tony slumped resentfully in the chair.

"I, more than anyone, appreciate your need to avenge Jeanne's death but you can't let that desire run your life."

"Ha! Any other words of wisdom Madam Pot?"

* * *

Tony Flashback

_An open shipping container on the Newport docks, a ragged line of boarder tape bounds the area, people in black jackets mill around collecting evidence. The picture zooms inside the container to what at first appears to be a black sculpture. Slowly the horrific realisation dawns on him: the sculpture is a badly charred human body. He turns his head and squeezes his eyes shut tightly to hide from the sight. Now he understands the threats._

End Tony Flashback

* * *

"Tony," the Director snapped. She had to hold his respect or all would be lost. "You need to step back from the situation. You have proven yourself in undercover ops and they could really use someone like you."

Tony stared at her stubbornly, his teeth clenched. They shared a common bond, he and Jenny – they alone knew the true identity of the Jane Doe they found that day. For his team-mates, he had fostered the rumour that his subsequent vendetta was rooted in the violent nature of the crime and its unsolved nature. A theory had sprung up that his obsession over the case caused the break-up of his long-term relationship. He let them think it, it was easier that way.

"What about Yerdon's position?" he managed to force out.

"I have someone else in mind for that," said Jenny flatly returning to her seat. "It's this or a level transfer to another team where the head is not so compliant with personal agendas. You do realise NCIS is a large organisation? There many people who deserve to run their own team."

"You mean people without a score to settle," Tony growled.

"You have until Friday," said Jen by way of dismissal. "Think about it. This sort of opportunity comes up once in a lifetime."

Tony eyed her momentarily then rose from the chair and left without a word. One thing was clear: he only had a few days to find the maniac who killed the only woman he had ever loved.


	2. Fessing up

**Chapter 2 – 'Fessing up**

"I can't go back to being a Probie again, Abs," McGee moaned miserably, slumping at the lab bench, his chin perched on folded arms. Abby's thumping music taunted him while pictures of Gibbs, and even a couple of Ducky, loomed from every terminal.

"Maybe they'll bring in a couple of newbies and you can be a senior agent," Abby said cheerily giving his back a gentle rub.

"No," McGee grumbled. "The Director made it clear that the team was going to be disbanded. There's a spot going in the Intel group which is more what I was trained for but I really wanted to keep doing the fieldwork."

"Have you talked to the Director yet?"

"No she's talked to Tony but he isn't saying anything. She probably offered him his own team."

"You think he'd take it? I mean he's got that whole NCIS psycho-revenge thing going really well."

"Yeah," McGee agreed, "if there's one thing I've learnt from Gibbs, the Director and now Tony, it's how to obsess over a nemesis."

They looked up as the lab door slid open. At first nothing happened then, very slowly, Tony poked his head through the door. For a moment it looked like he would run but then he squared his shoulders and strode into the lab.

He held up a plastic evidence bag containing a battered gold locket on a chunky looped chain. "Can you get anything off this, Abs?"

Abby frowned as she took it from him. "Maybe, it looks pretty clean: is it from a crime scene?"

Tony's eyes danced to McGee momentarily then back to Abby. "Yes," he said slowly.

"Which one? You got something for me to sign?"

"No, I, ah, had it, ah, on me."

"You took evidence from a crime scene?" said McGee, aghast.

* * *

--Tony Flashback--

_He sees a charred body lying in a grotesque shape of absolute pain. Reflexively he turns and his eyelids ram together. Two deep breaths later and he peels the lids open. A metallic glint catches his eye and he swoops on it, thankful to focus his mind on something trivial. An anguished cry escapes him as he recognises the simple gift: the pendant he gave Jeanne, still on its gold chain. The chain she pointed out to him in her not-so-subtle way in the weeks leading up to her birthday. He knows they have left it there for him to find – just in case he didn't get the message._

_Shaky glove-clothed hands reach down and in moments the precious ornament is sealed in a plastic evidence bag. Anger stabs at him – their intimacy has been violated. In a moment of tragic misjudgement, he pockets the evidence._

--End Tony Flashback--

* * *

"It was…" Tony began uncertainly, "personal."

"Tony," McGee lectured, "you can't just take stuff from a crime scene…"

"Can it Probie," Tony flared. He turned to Abby. "Abs?"

"Sure," said Abby, valiantly trying to act as if nothing was unusual. "I'll get right on it. McGee: see if you can get me the evidence list from the lock up so we can ... ah... add this."

McGee was still glaring at Tony.

"Go," Abby commanded.

McGee shifted his glare to her but did as he was bid, heading for the door.

Abby slapped on her gloves, slid the locket out of its protective sleeve and started to push the release.

"No!" cried Tony urgently.

But it was too late. The locket sprung open to reveal two photos: one of the dead woman Tony seemed so obsessed by and one of… "Tony?" Abby breathed.

"What?" McGee retraced his steps at top speed to peer over her shoulder. He turned to Tony, his expression bisecting the conflicting emotions of fury at Tony's betrayal and sympathy for his loss. "Your girlfriend? Why didn't you tell us?"

Tony shrank onto a stool. "I wanted to, I really did, but she was an op – need to know."

"But we were a team, Tony." Disloyalty always cut McGee deep.

"I had more than one master, Probie."

"So all this time, you knew the identity of the body?" McGee yelled. "Do you know who killed her as well? You could have saved us months of investigation."

Tony looked up sadly. It was rare to see McGee so riled up over something but he had always known this moment would come. "No, Probie," he said quietly. "I don't know who killed her. I'm sort of hoping that will tell us."

"Us?" McGee laughed derisively, "when did this start being 'us'?"

"Tim!" Abby reined McGee in with a single word.

"What?" he challenged.

"It's OK." Her hands grasped both his forearms, her eyes searched his imploringly. "We've a team now, that's what's important."

"But," McGee stared at her for a moment, the fury clearly still pounding through him. Then he caught the pain in Tony's eyes and finally understood. The anger drained from him.

"I'll get the evidence list," he said with a sad nod of acknowledgement towards Tony.

"Thanks, Probie."


	3. Getting the band back together

**Chapter 3 – Getting the band back together**

It was just on 5:30 pm the next day when Tony got the call. He was sitting calmly at his desk, shuffling through some innocuous paperwork while his mind sorted through solutions to his other, more pressing, problem.

"DiNozzo," he answered on the third ring.

"I've got something." The line went dead.

Tony froze with the receiver still planted firmly on his ear staring down at the phone as though mere mental anguish would somehow revive it. His eyes rose slowly from the desk to meet McGee's and an unspoken message passed between them: it was time. Tony placed the handpiece gently in its cradle and the two agents rose as one, fell into step, and headed for the elevator.

* * *

Abby looked up as they entered the room then craned her head to look behind them to ensure the coast was clear.

"Whatcha got Abs?" asked Tony.

"Well the locket itself has been wiped clean – no surprises there but what they failed to do is open the locket."

"What's in the locket?"

"Well, nothing. But caught in the rim, where the two parts seal, I found a mix of silicon, oxygen and aluminium – three of the most common elements on earth."

"You found clay," McGee clarified, settling on a stool – it looked like this was going to be a long Abby ride.

"Correct," Abby bestowed a smile over McGee. "Clay: the precise composition of this clay may or may not lead us to the exact place where the actual murder took place."

"So the locket doesn't help us," Tony grumbled.

"Oh contraire, ye of little 'ozzo'."

Abby smiled smugly making Tony grimace - her torturous games could last a while. He looked across to McGee who was observing proceedings with the bemused expression of one who had watched this episode too many times.

"Because," Abby continued, "this is the chunkiest chain I have seen since I was chained up to ….well let's not go there. The point is: people go to all the trouble of wiping fingerprints off the ornament and yet completely ignore the chain itself, even with loops this thick."

"You got a fingerprint off that?" Tony was unconvinced.

"Correction, I got ten partial prints from different parts of many different fingers."

"And you can search for that?"

"Ordinarily: no." Abby walked around behind McGee, leant on his back and began absently circling her index finger in his hair. "Unless you have a computer geek willing to spend half the night creating a search engine to match up partial prints across your database."

Tony was suddenly humbled by the depth of McGee's friendship.

"And," Tony prompted.

Abby gave the top of McGee's head a quick scrub to erase the circular pattern she had ingrained in his hair and walked over to her keyboard.

"And this." One stab of a key and a haggard face replaced Gibbs' on the screen in front of her. "Meet Monsieur Derek Dejavou. The multiple partial prints were enough to give us an 82 percent hit."

"I know him."

Abby, Tony and McGee spun guiltily at the sound of Ziva's voice.

"You're not supposed to be here," Tony strode quickly towards her to block her view of the screen.

"I am still part of this team," Ziva protested.

"It's not that," Tony whispered hoarsely. "It's just that this action is not exactly sanctioned by your friend, The Director."

"She is not on my team." Ziva glared at Tony. "The reason I am being transferred back is because I have contacts and knowledge about international activities. If you wish to utilize this vast knowledge, you will have to make haste."

Tony stood a few inches into her personal space but she held her ground, her chin up defiantly.

"Please, Tony," it was a quiet plea, "I want to help you."

Tony looked deep into her dark eyes and for a moment he had the impression that, in another time and place, they could have been more than just friends. Perhaps if they had a chance to just start over… "OK," he relented finally, stepping aside so Ziva could view the picture again. "Tell us what you know."

"French: a head of a certain sleeper group stationed in your country for at least 5 years. Involved in international arms dealing, he works for…"

"La Grenouille?" Tony guessed.

Ziva looked at him sharply. "Almost: for his competition, then his successor. They use a number of safe houses. I can list about a dozen off the top of my head but my information is not up to date. Give me an hour and a phone and I may be able to renew some old acquaintances."

"Do it," Tony hissed, turning his back on her. "Abby get the evidence back up here, we've got a long night ahead."

* * *

An hour later, Abby, McGee and Tony were sitting around a large table "borrowed" from the tea room. The contents of three large evidence boxes lay scattered across the surface. From the back room, Ziva's voice could be heard negotiating information in a guttural tongue.

The sound of evidence shuffling turned to stony silence as Abby's door slid open.

"Only me," called Jimmy, carrying a large fragrant container.

"Ahh, sustenance," Abby sighed contentedly.

"You told Palmer?" Tony growled.

"Hey, we're getting the band back together," Abby defended.

"Don't quote Blue's Brother's at a time like this."

"I was hungry," said Abby cheerily, hovering impatiently over Jimmy, "and food was Jimmy department."

"Hope you got enough for two more, Black Lung," came Gibbs' laconic voice.

They turned to seek Gibbs and Ducky standing in the doorway.

Tony rose in agitation. "Ah Boss, this is, ah, kind of personal. The Director would kill you if she knew."

"What's she going to do DiNozzo: fire us?" Gibbs pointed out as the two older men joined the group. "Is that curry, Dr Palmer?"

Palmer's eyes ping-ponged around from Gibbs to Ducky to Tony and back again to Gibbs again. "Ah: yes sir."

"Fine choice, my boy," Ducky congratulated him. "There's nothing like a good curry to catch a criminal on the run."


	4. A final night in the lab

I'm having trouble uploading my story for some reason - it keeps saying the documents are empty. I will try to keep posting.

**Chapter 4 - A final night in the lab**

"OK," Ziva announced, "I have a list of over 100 possible safe house locations associated with this man."

"Do you think we could thin it out a bit by correlating with the mud sample?" asked Tony.

"Clay, Tony," Abby corrected, "but I am impressed: all these years and you've finally grasped the concept of correlation. I'm so proud of you." She enveloped him in a hug.

"Well, can we?" he gasped as Abby crushed the air from his lungs.

"Well," she replied cheerfully, releasing him, "I'm analysing the chemical composition now and McGee's been setting up the geological database for the search. Once it's running I can add in Ziva's locations and see what it comes up with."

The group froze as Abby's door swished open again.

"I'm getting you a surveillance camera for that corridor as a parting gift," Gibbs grumbled.

"Only me," called Michelle Lee, "I was looking for Jimmy." She stopped dead as she saw them sitting with boxes of evidence strewn over the table and now the floor. "Ah…you are authorised to remove that from the evidence locker at night, right?"

"Ahhhh, sure," it was not Abby's most convincing effort.

Before anyone could react, Agent Lee dived on the clipboard poking out of one of the boxes. "There's no chain of evidence. You haven't even checked it out – and you've added an item after the cut off!"

Tony procured a blunt object and proceeded to creep up behind her.

Agent Lee shook her head in horror. "You'll need a delegate's signature from someone in Legal here," she signed the page and flipped to the next one, "and here". She started writing on the back of her hand. "I'll fill out a DC 51 in the morning and backdate it," she mumbled absently to herself, "that should cover you."

She stopped and looked up at the stunned group. "If you want to catch these bastards and NOT let them get away on a legal technicality, you're going to have to follow proper procedure," she pointed out with a sweet smile.

Jimmy was beaming. "Isn't she fantastic?"

Michelle spun to Tony and frowned quizzically as he tucked something behind his back.

"Welcome to the team, Agent Lee," he said.

"Oh I can't stay," she informed him abruptly. "I just came to remind Jimmy that it's his mother's birthday and he promised to visit."

Jimmy expression fell somewhere between thankfulness to be saved from his mother's wrath, and embarrassment that their relationship was clearly more than anyone had suspected. He smiled tepidly at the others. "She's sort of my social secretary."

"I'll be your wailing widow if you don't get moving," she pointed out.

"Go," Ducky shooed him, "this is an event you really can't afford to miss, believe you me. The consequences may be too terrible to contemplate."

"But," Jimmy protested weakly.

"Besides," Ducky added. "This may be a long night and SOMEONE is going to have to front up to autopsy tomorrow."

Jimmy nodded gratefully. "OK, then. Ahh, ring me if you need something."

He offered Michelle his arm and they strode off through the dimly lit lab.

"Miss, Lee," Ducky called after them.

"Yes doctor?"

"Excuse my impertinence but you wouldn't happen to own a pair of leopard skin panties, would you?"

"No doctor," she smiled brightly. "Not anymore," she confided to Jimmy as they made for the door.

* * *

Tony put down his folder, leaned back in his chair and refocused his eyes on his surrounds. Beside him, Ducky and Gibbs still leafed through the documents lying about the table. It had turned cold and dark in the lab many hours ago and the steady patter of rain on the pavement outside Abby's ground-level windows was just discernable over Ziva's snoring as she sat slumped on the floor in the corner of the lab, a folder still spread out in front of her. McGee and Abby were lying face down on a bench fast asleep like two ballet dancers: their faces turned towards each other, their arms in a haphazardly interlaced version of prostrate bras en couronne.

"You going to miss all this, Boss?" Tony asked lazily.

Gibbs' head popped up from the report he was reading and he scanned the room, taking in the old familiar sight: an exhausted team supporting each other. "Nope"

"Me neither."

"You taking that European job?" asked Gibbs casually, returning to his reading.

Tony frowned at him. "Jenny told you about that?"

"Who do you think recommended you?"

"What have you got against Yeardon's team?"

"Nothing," Gibbs replied, nonchalantly turning a page, "but you've really got to let this vengeance thing go."

"I learnt from the best."

"DiNozzo," Gibbs looked up, "you ever read Moby Dick?"

Tony's mouth opened but he was denied a right of response by the urgent beeping of Abby's computer which, against all odds, had managed to attract his attention over the cavalcade of Ziva's snores. Despite the fact the alarm was within inches of Abby and McGee, neither stirred, both too entombed in slumber to notice. Tony threw Gibbs an uncertain look.

"Well," Gibbs urged, "go on."

Without further encouragement, Tony leapt from his chair and approached the screen. Abby's search was complete. There were fifteen possible sites: fifteen locations standing between him and peace. Leaning between Abby and McGee, Tony killed the alarm and hit the print key.

He returned to his seat with the list in his hands. "How am I going to convince the Director I need to do this, tomorrow?"

Gibbs smiled mischievously. "Leave her to me. I was thinking of ditching the farewell party and I might need someone to talk me out of it. I'm a stubborn bastard. Could take all morning"

"Then," Ducky chimed in, "I might have a change of heart about uprooting mother at this late stage of her life."

"You'll need a lot of counselling," Gibbs commiserated.

"Oh my, yes," Ducky concurred, "could take all afternoon."


	5. Drowning

**Chapter 5- Drowning**

Ziva peered cautiously through the grimy brown windows of the run down wooden shack, the smooth metal of her gun cool against the tip of her chin. A damp musty smell mingled with decaying leaf matter in the cool afternoon autumn air. Like the last ten addresses, the neglected house laughed disdainfully at gravity, tottering on the brink of collapse yet refusing to capitulate to the inevitable.

She looked over to where Tony and McGee were stalking around the grounds, guns raised. "Looks clear to .." a flicker of movement inside the house caused the message to die in her throat. "Halt, Federal Agents!"

A door slammed and the three agents set off in pursuit around the house and down a slippery grassed slope towards a river snaking behind the house.

Ziva read the motivation of their target as she ran. He was obviously making for the large boat moored in the middle of the river but rather than heading for its corresponding runabout tied up to a ramshackle wharf positioned a long way down the bank, he was taking a bet that he could swim to the boat faster than he could run to the shuttle craft. He had assumed, probably quite rightly, that either she or Tony, who was now also heading for the wharf, would cut him off before he made it to the smaller boat.

* * *

McGee swore as Tony ordered him to swim after the perpetrator but he had to admit that, in the choice between a quick dip in the probably sewerage laden stream and a sea-sickness inspiring bumpy journey on a small boat, there was never going to be a winner. Reaching the water's edge he levered off his shoes, peeled off his socks, shed his jacket and undid his belt. As his pants dropped to the muddy bank, his eyes sought ripples on the water's surface. In a flash he what he was looking for and made a running dive.

After the first bite of cold had subsided, McGee settled into strong swift strokes pausing every now and again for reconnaissance as the mud-stained water did not support underwater surveillance. A minute later, he was pleased to note he was gaining on his target. Now he just had to get to him before he got to the boat. McGee quickened his pace, slogging against heavy sodden clothing in the gritty sour brown water. Finally, he was within striking distance.

Unfortunately, the same was also true of his target who took the opportunity to deliver a mighty punch to his solar plexus, driving the air from his lungs. The follow up slam to the head plunged McGee into the murky depths of the near-freezing water and the final kick to the head on departure nicely erased any final shards consciousness he was grappling to maintain.

* * *

Tony leapt into the small motor boat with Ziva and checked McGee's progress. He was pleased: McGee had reached their man. Now all he had to do was keep him occupied long enough for them to reach the main boat.

Then suddenly, the target was clambering aboard and there was a pair of arms flailing in the water. Then the arms disappeared below the surface. Tony ripped the engine into life and scooted across the river's surface. The large boat's motors roared and he saw the mooring line drop. Slowly the boat edged its way to freedom. He knew what he had to do.

* * *

Suddenly McGee was immersed in air, not water. Back arched, mouth gasping wildly, his arms desperately pushed against the water's surface to raise his body. Small ripples slapped him in the face and a tight band constricted his chest. He forced the panic down only to have it lurch straight back out at him again.

"Probie!" Tony's voice cut into his world. "Relax, I've got you: you're fine."

Slowly, calm descended. He was floating on his back, Tony's strong arm wrapped securely around him. Rhythmic one-sided strokes were pulling him to safety. He could feel the rasp of Tony's stubble against his own, in most circumstances an un-nerving experience but now: a joyous sensation. The sound of Tony's huffing breaths, marking his exertion, were as glorious as a choral masterpiece.

Then they stopped and his legs started sinking again.

"We're at the boat, Probie," Tony panted.

Two arms hauled him from above while Tony heaved from below. McGee scrambled to help but found he was too exhausted and disoriented to make a positive contribution. Once in the boat, a great surge of seedy brown water was expelled from his stomach with such force, the boat nearly overturned. As Ziva helped Tony into the boat, McGee sat doubled up on the seat heaving until his stomach muscles spasmed and refused to contract further.

Ziva and Tony went into overdrive peeling off his wet clothing, sliding Tony's jacket over his arms and zipping it up to his neck. Tony wriggled some pants on him, presumably Tony's pants because they really didn't fit once they reached the top of his thighs.

"Here, Tony," Ziva was offering Tony her jacket. He had forgotten that Tony would also be cold and wet.

Then he was sitting on the hard wooden seat, hunched against Tony's body shaking as if he would fall apart. Tony's arm wrapped around his back to keep him from faling off the seat. Then Tony started bombarding him with random, pointless questions like what day it was and where he was…. If Tony was that confused, maybe he should be the one wanting to lie down and sleep for a week…then the nausea hit – damn, he hated boats.

The engine roared into life.

* * *

"Back to shore," Tony yelled as he realised Ziva was making to pursue the criminal.

Ziva looked back in surprise and Tony had to admit she was a magnificent sight - her hair whipping in the wind, eyes wild with the thrill of the chase, the scent of blood in her nostrils.

He shook his head, pointed to shore, and yelled, "back."

Ziva's disappointment was obvious but fleeting as she braced herself for the change in direction.

Tony wrapped both arms around McGee to stabilise him as Ziva made a sweeping turn. Even over the engine vibrations, he could feel McGee trembling in his arms. McGee had an acquired an unseemly grey/green hue and his confused answers to the most basic of questions, even before he had slumped to semi-consciousness, indicated he was in urgent need of medical care.

As they neared the wharf, Tony looked back up the river. The escapee boat was now no more than a rapidly diminishing smudge on the horizon, discernable only from its telltale wake of freedom.

McGee thumped senselessly against his shoulders, bringing him back to reality. This morning, his only aim had been the total and utter annihilation of one man. This afternoon, that didn't seem quite so important anymore.

"I can drop you off and go after him," Ziva offered as she cut the engine.

Tony looked down at McGee, almost lifeless in his arms.

"It's over, Ziva," he said regretfully. Then he smiled. "You should have swum after him."

"Why me?"

"You're the guppy."


	6. The last post

**

* * *

**

Chapter 6 – The last post (sorry about the bad pun)

The agonising pain in McGee's stomach restricted his gait to short, faltering steps but he was getting out of this hospital if he had to crawl on his hands and knees. Tony and Ziva had been nice enough to gather his clothes from the river bank and dump them in the back of the ambulance with him so at least he was decently clothed, if a little muddy. By the time he reached the waiting area, he was gasping and shaking with exertion. Falling onto a chair, he clawed the cell phone from his pocket to call a cab.

A familiar figure strode past, screeched to a halt and walked backwards towards him, reverse-beeping as he did.

"You were too fast for me, McGee," said Tony breathlessly.

"That's a little hard to believe," McGee panted back.

Tony dumped himself next to McGee. "No sneaking out to the party – I gave the hospital explicit instructions to ring me the moment you were released."

"But."

"No buts," Tony halted him in his tracks. "I'm taking you home, we're getting some party clothes and we're going together."

"You're not exactly my idea of a date, Tony."

Tony eyed him evilly. "Don't make me whack you McGurgle."

* * *

Free food had a way of encouraging attendance at farewell gatherings and tonight was no exception. Initially, the tables and chairs had been pressed against the walls of the training room but most people, sensing they were in for a long haul, had sensibly arranged the chairs into communal circles and were now in the process of conversing with the people they saw everyday but never bothered to acknowledge.

Tony spotted Abby, not a difficult task given her mourning outfit, and dragged a chair from the wall to place beside her.

"Sit Probie," he commanded.

McGee put up no resistance which was possibly related to the fact that his skin had begun to take on a charming old world grey hue again. Once McGee was settled and Abby was fawning over him appropriately, Tony's eyes sought and found Gibbs pacing in the corner of the room like a trapped rat.

"Just need to talk to the boss," he mumbled.

* * *

"The Director managed to convince you then?" Tony greeted Gibbs.

"It was a near thing." Gibbs admitted, clearly uncomfortable in his suroundings. "How did you get on?"

"Lost him."

"Damn."

"He'll keep."

"Keep? I thought you'd be out there right now."

"And miss this?"

Even Gibbs' sternest look could not dislodge Tony's grin.

A hand landed on Tony's right shoulder and grasped it tightly. "We need to talk," the Director muttered.

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen," Director Jenny Shepard announced from the head of the room.

The chatter of voices dimmed to a smattering of conversations.

"It is time to farewell a few familiar faces before they disappear of their own accord." The pointed stare was directed squarely at Gibbs who was edging towards the door.

"Leroy Jethro Gibbs has been a member of NCIS since…."

By the time the parting gift was presented, many of the audience had forgotten why they were there.

"Would you like to make a speech Agent Gibbs?"

Gibbs turned to the sea of expectant faces, so familiar after all these years and said: "Nope."

The applause was tumultuous; they knew they would not escape so lightly when the next recipient was called on.

"Doctor Donald 'Ducky' Mallard has been with NCIS since…"

* * *

"McGee," Abby whispered urgently. "You're missing the good bit. Besides, you're snoring."

McGee was surprised to find himself encased in a warm, deep sleep, hardly able to resurface. Abby's shoulder was surprisingly comfortable. He was unsure if the exhaustion was due to his recent near drowning or the fact that he'd never swum so far in his life.

"McGee!"

Harsh reality Gibbs slapped him and suddenly Abby's shoulder was jarringly angular.

"What?" It sounded so much more coherent inside his head than flopping out of his mouth.

"She's announcing the new placements; you're going to find out where you're going."

He took a sharp breath and flung his eyes open. The world stared back at 90 degrees to its usual vista. He hoisted his head up painfully just in time to hear the Director say, "…will be replaced by Dr Jimmy Palmer and Sarah Yeardon's team will be getting new head – Special Agent Timothy McGee."

McGee blinked and replayed the message in his head one more time. People were clapping and looking at him, some and Abby was shrieking something and shaking him. He had never felt so shell shocked in his life. Then suddenly Abby grabbed his face with both hands and planted her lips on his. And to think, only a moment ago, he didn't think he could be any more stunned.

Tony exchanged a laugh with Ziva, standing close by his side: no matter what happened, they could always count on Abby to shock McGee to a standstill. They'd had some time to talk together on the drive back to headquarters and Ziva's perspective had been instrumental in forming his final decision. They had promised to keep in touch – and he never broke a promise. Ziva smiled at him, raised her glass in a silent salute and drank.

"Special Agent Tony DiNozzo," the Director continued, "has accepted an undercover position on operation Petite Poisson."

Beside Tony, a stream of liquid shot from Ziva's mouth.

Tony frowned, he'd never actually bothered to ask the name of the op: it didn't sound good. "Little poison?"

"Poisson not poison: little fish," the Director corrected. "Colloquially: Operation Guppy. We hope he and Mossad Officer David can continue their fine operational relationship."

--END--


End file.
